No Uncertain Ends
by Isolationistmagi
Summary: A one shot focused on the battle of Ostagar from the perspective of one of the soldiers.  Credit to Bioware for the universe and characters.


**No Uncertain Ends**

The Tevinter sentinel stands high over the soldiers, the white marble of its construction almost a beacon within itself. The wind rips through the air like a siren's call and the rain feels like an unending barrage of needles on his skin where it is not covered by armor glistening eerily with wetness. It occurs to him just how terribly beautiful the sight, no the entire scene, is. Looking at that tower standing high to watch over the battlefield, he reminds himself this will change soon and change quickly. No beauty ever touched by the darkspawn remains so for long, he has learned. He chokes at the thought and bites back tears.

She had been the love of his life, all he had lived for, though he had known her scant more than a month. That she was a soldier had been surprising enough, that she was akin to his own spirit was something else entirely. Fair and gentle in her manner, but possessed of a sense of duty that could be swayed by no sum of gold conceivable. She was, in almost every way possible, a mirror of himself. Her hair a goldesque blonde, his own a dirt-like brown. Her eyes like sapphires, his like topaz. The gentle curves of her body rolling flawlessly like waves over a summer sea, in the same manner he was built like a wall with scant a gentle line in his entire body. She was the left hand that waved back to his right when he waved at himself in a pool of water, her beauty was not his rugged handsomeness, but it took little to see how intimately their appearances related to each other, even when in full armor.

Scarce save a few moments exposure to her had been enough to convince him that he loved her and would love her forever. It was but a matter of days before she was at his arm and he at hers, two soldiers: she the gypsy hailing from the sparkling seas of Amaranthine, he a farmer's son born and raised in South Reach. Both had enlisted in the army as soon as their age allowed out of a compulsion to defend the land their forebears had fought and died for, both were led to each other when Cailan mustered the army at Ostagar to beat back the Darkspawn but a month previously. The first day he had looked at her and she had looked away with a blush in her cheek. His heart had skipped a beat. The next day found them sparring each other in practice for the coming battle. Both had been reprimanded by the sergeant for being too hesitant, and afterwards they had talked awhile. She had spoken of simple things, and how they were diminishing as time passed to replaced by an intrigued and corrupt world. He had spoken of the simple things he still saw everywhere: a flower blooming in a field of grass, a child at play in a riverbed. She had blushed at that.

Before the first battle, he had prayed to the Maker that he would keep her safe, and the Maker answered. The Darkspawn had been forced back, and the army had taken almost no losses. Their joy at seeing each other alive afterwards quickly culminated in the happiest moment of his life, and he learned not a week later that she was carrying his child. Not even being tasked with polishing boots could wipe the smile off of his face. He asked her to marry him, and she had agreed. Plans were made for after the incursion, and his heart had soared like a hawk gliding over the green forest.

Then came the second battle, after which he would hate himself forever, and hate the darkspawn more. Though they had both survived, she had contracted the taint. He remembered looking into those vague dull eyes once so bright with joy, looking at the pallid skin that had once been so flush, and couldn't bear it. He begged the warden Duncan to put her through the joining, to which he had replied that the taint was too far progressed and moving too quickly for anything to be done. He had raved and sworn at that, but that could not change the reality of the situation. Duncan had offered him a heartfelt apology and a dagger which he bitterly accepted. He may have put the dagger through her heart, but it was his that he destroyed. Since then he had been empty, save for a hatred of the darkspawn, and a will to spare others from her fate.

He snaps back into the present and snaps his head to look out into the wilds. He hopes the bastards won't be long in coming, he wants to watch them die and bleed their unholy foulness into the earth. He wants that very much. A bolt of lightning forks the grey sky overhead and he reaffirms his grip on his sword. He loves his place in the lines, just one back from the front, ready to be one of the first at the bastards. He knows they are doomed if the signal is not lit, but it will be lit and the Teyrn will charge. This battle will end in victory, and he will enjoy it. At least this is what he tells himself halfheartedly, not fully capable of believing his own words. If the war ends glory, fine. If not, he is reunited with the woman he loves, he can accept either possibility. He just wants to kill as many darkspawn as possible anymore, and keep them from killing others. The archers suddenly tense and he strains his eyes to see the vague tree line. There is an unholy light coming from somewhere behind the trees, like a source less soulless fireglow. They are coming. He steels himself for the inevitable. If this is his day to die, he will go with the honor of a Ferelden soldier.

Their outlines become visible, though nothing else. First a dozen, then two, then tens of dozens, he loses count. They are outnumbered, even with the Teyrn's men taken into account. He considers that. Either the plan succeeds or they all die here and now. The darkspawn form a wall of silhouettes in the distance then stop and stand motionless. A charge is running through the air. The man in front of him is breathing anxiously and takes a step back before the encroaching wall of darkness. He raises his hand and sets it against the mans shoulder to steady him. He looks back and he gives him a nod that is meant to be reassuring. The man turns back and faces the darkspawn. He masters his own fear, driving it off to a distant part of his mind where it cannot plague him. Where they strike with fear and doubt, he meets with a steeled heart and strong discipline, the only defenses against such things.

There is movement. What was once a black wall is now a roiling tirade as the fiends make their charge. The battle is begun.

He shifts his sword to the ready as the archers stand waiting for the order. Cailan gives a shout from somewhere behind and four score arrows are lighted and nocked in perfect harmony. A few moments pass and then there are as many twangs as a sudden firestorm flies into the air on wings of wood and goose feathers. Many darkspawn fall, but the advancing black army does not even flinch. The archers quickly move to the side as the king gives a second order. War hounds charge the abominations and start pulling as many as they can down even as they are killed in the attempt. The monsters continue and he tenses, every muscle in his body surging with energy, ready to charge the instant the king gives the order. He waits, a massive stone goes hurling through the sky overhead, but he pays it no mind. Any moment now, he can almost make out their hideous faces.

_For Ferelden! _Cries the king and he rushes forward with the rest of the soldiers. He is fastest and quickly find himself leading the charge. He fixes his eyes on a monster and it looks at him too. They rush to meet each other as other monsters and soldiers pick their matches. He runs up and slows marginally as the fiend moves within striking range. The monster strikes at him and he quickly steps aside and slices it open as he runs by. His next opponent strikes at him with greater skill, and he must raise his shield to deflect the blow. He quickly responds by plunging his blade into the monster's chest, and then loses track of all time and thought.

There is only the battle, his fury, and his will to survive. He kills every darkspawn he sees as they kill the men around him, he focuses only on his shield and sword for they are what will save him. He almost dies as a fireball blazes by him and kills several of his fellows nearby. He looks over at the emissary just as an arrow sticks itself in its eye. This distraction costs him dearly, as a darkspawn spear suddenly finds itself lodged in his shoulder. He howls with pain as he tears it out and rams it through the nearest of the fiends. His shield arm hangs uselessly at his side as he brings down monster after monster in a manner even a grey warden would be proud of.

It is not enough.

For all the skill the kings men bring against the darkspawn, they simply keep coming without end. For every dead hurlock there are four genlocks, for every dead genlock there are five hurlocks for every ten dead darkpawn there is an ogre. He looks at the King who gives the signal to the tower, not for the first time he hopes. He looks up at the tower but the beacon remains unlit. Something is wrong beyond the simplicity that the battle is going badly. He looks back to the field just in time to see Duncan slay a darkspawn that was about to run him through. He nods briefly and the warden returns the gesture. Then he is off to fight by the kings side as ever more darkspawn flood onto the field.

Why is the beacon not lit? What is wrong? He feels his strength waning as darkspawn after darkspawn haves at him. He sees soldiers breaking to run away in the distance and curses them. They are cowards to run. Thinking back to his dead father and dead lover, he reminds himself that they might have more to live for than he does. He can't blame them for that, but still he hates them for it. There are only a few score men left now, being forced into a tight circle as the army of darkness draws in ever closer, ever more powerful. Does the Teyrn need the signal to see they are in danger, why does he not intervene? Is he to live his king to die?

He forces the thought from his mind as yet another darkspawn assails him. He will not, cannot, think about that now. It is too horrible, for it to be the most respected man in Ferelden, and not the vilest force in Thedas that is responsible for the death of them all. He begins to see in the brief glimpses of his fellows faces that they are resigning themselves to die, making peace with the maker even as they continue to fight on. There are scant but two dozen steadfast defenders left, while their adversaries still number in the thousands. It will all be over soon. He can only hope that others will be able to quell the onslaught of evil, but who else is left? He despairs as he realizes that when this battle is over, there will be no one left strong enough to stand against the blight. It is now that he truly begins to despair. He sees an ogre thundering towards the last vestiges of the army and says his last prayers to the maker.

Almost like an answer, the Tower suddenly flares up in a bright blaze of glory that can be seen from anywhere on the battlefield, though the last defenders are all in one place. It blows about in the hurricane-like wind and rain, but there it is, the symbol of salvation. The Teyrn will charge and the battle might be a pyrrhic victory instead of an utter and absolute loss, the cost of which being the entire nation of Ferelden. He waits for the moment in which the Teyrn will charge and salvage something completely irredeemable. He waits with bated breath, as do those around him, even as they fight on, for that moment.

It doesn't come.

The Teyrn never charges, and despair falls into all men. But it is numb, if they are to die, they will die with valor. He begins fighting his final opponent- a seven foot hurlock wielding a greatsword taller than he is. As he deflects the monsters blows he sees the ogre slam Duncan to one side, a fatal wound, as it rushes for the king. He watches as it picks the man in gold up, a doll in the monster's arm. His heart stops as the monster crushes the king like an ant and throws him into two of the last defenders. The hurlock takes his shield arm completely as he sees Duncan rush up and leap at the monster, scaling it using his blades. The ogre falls but the warden will be next soon.

He doesn't even feel it as the greatsword punctures his stomach and ends him. He doesn't feel anything as the battle comes to a close. Instead he plunges his own sword into the monsters heart, as it falls it drags him down with it, forcing them into some nightmarish embrace.

He sees her face as the world fades to nothing around him. If he is dead, then perhaps it is not so terrible. At least there is her, her eyes the same brilliant blue he loved, her face possessed of the same beauty. He has lost, all is lost, but at least he has her.

He leans in and kisses her face as the world fades to nothing forever.


End file.
